What I've Done
by dancingloki
Summary: After a fight with Steve at a party, Tony heads back to their room drunk, only to find Bruce and his guilt waiting for him. A "deleted scene" from my ongoing series Jury's Out, but should stand on its own well enough. Stark Spangled Banner.


_He was drunk. Far drunker than he knew he should be, but it was a party; he was loose and relaxed and had a whole room of defenseless targets for his famously inestimable wit (if he did say so himself). He knew he was being careless, he knew he was being stupid; but he felt giddy and lightheaded and like he was flying, preening and sparkling, the center of all focus in the room._

Tony's head was spinning as he lurched along the hall to his bedroom, clutching the wall for support. He shut his eyes as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Behind his eyelids, Steve's face swam into view, shocked and hurt and tearstained. He pressed his face against the cold wall, drawing several shuddering breaths as he tried to steady himself. He knew he was still miles away from sober; he didn't want to think, he didn't want to remember anything, all he wanted was to collapse into his bed and sleep until the world stood still again.

_A broad hand, a strong arm, a chest he had leaned on and clung to in the night so many times, no longer comforting but stifling him, silencing him, cutting off the words he knew he shouldn't speak but couldn't stop from pouring out. He was being smothered, restrained, _manhandled_, choice and direction and _control_ stolen away from him like so many times before. His head was whirling and his mind filled up with hot red rage and before he could stop himself, the poison and hatred he had always turned inward came rushing off his tongue, filling his nostrils with a scent like curdled milk, thickening the air between them, irrecoverable. Irredeemable._

He stumbled, barely catching himself on a doorframe. He clutched at the wall, waiting for his head to stop reeling and the excess blood to drain away from his head. After a moment, his vision had de-blurred enough he felt safe slouching a little further along the corridor. The door to his room was in sight, but it may as well have been miles; he couldn't take more than a few steps at a time without losing his balance.

_"I wonder what they'd think?" he slurred, wobbling on unsteady legs, "I wonder what all these fancy people would think then, if they found out about the _real_ Captain Perfect America?" "Tony," Bruce warned in a low growl, but there was no stopping him. "Whaddya think, Steve? Would _**I**_ still be the one embarrassing _**you**_ if all these people knew that you have to go to a _shrink_ just to stop yourself from accidentally _killing_ us? Huh?" Steve recoiled as if slugged in the jaw; Bruce's mouth dropped open._

He had reached the door to his bedroom, but something was stopping him from reaching out to take the knob. He rested his forehead against the doorjamb, breathing as slow and controlled as he could manage. It might have been anywhere between a few seconds and several hours that he stood motionless before he could will himself to move. He reached out, turned the knob, swung open the door, and walked through.

_As he watched Bruce lead Steve away, he saw the betrayal and hurt and defeat in their shoulders as easily as he had seen it in their faces. The very small part of his brain that still was capable of rational thought screamed at him to apologize, to shout out, to run after them, to do _SOMETHING_, but he couldn't move. He stood stock-still in the center of the room for a very long time, motionless, staring at the door they had walked through, blind to the tangled buzzing web of whispering rumor that throbbed around him._

...

Tony staggered into the common room, drawing up short when he saw Bruce sitting at his desk, head bent over his work, the desk lamp the only light in the room. The scientist set down his pen, and took a long pause, heaving a deep sigh and pulling off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose before he looked up.

They simply looked at each other for a long moment, Bruce turned sideways in his seat leaning against the edge of the desk, Tony wavering on his feet. Bruce seemed to be waiting for Tony to break the silence; when neither man spoke, he turned back to his work, replacing his glasses. Tony's better judgment was hollering in the back of his brain to stop digging himself deeper, but there was still more than enough alcohol in his system to overrule it.

He stumbled across the room, catching himself on the back of Bruce's chair. "Watcha workin' on?"

Bruce sighed. "Quantum thermonuclear radiation spectrums in the cosmic singularity. I was talking to Erik Selvig tonight, he's working on something similar and we're considering collaborating. Stop that." He waved off Tony, who was nuzzling into the curls on the crown of his head, obviously not listening.

Tony hummed in displeasure, but—to Bruce's surprise—backed off, propping himself up against Bruce's desk. "Where's Steve?" he asked cavalierly, determined to pretend nothing was wrong for as long as possible.

The glare he received in return should by rights have seared flesh from bone.

"Asleep." Shards of ice pierced each syllable. Tony threw a glance at the closed door to their bedroom, trying to be inconspicuous; but vodka had robbed him of subtlety.

"Don't you _dare_, Tony," Bruce hissed. "You've put him through enough tonight, don't you _dare_ wake him up now, I don't_care_ why."

The sudden vehemence sent Tony reeling. "Whoa whoa whoa! I wasn't, I wasn't! I was just…just. Looking, I was just looking. At…at the door." Bruce shot him another dagger-glare before turning back to his equations.

He fidgeted, looking around the room, drumming his hands against the desk, trying to ignore the aura of cold anger radiating from the seated man who was steadfastly ignoring him. His better judgment was insisting he should just go lie down on the couch, but his very good friend Jack Daniels was putting forth an _excellent_ argument in favor of kissing that little dimple in the corner of Bruce's neck.

His common sense threw up its hands in surrender as he opened his mouth again. "Bruce."

Bruce ignored him.

"Bruce. Hey. Hey Bruce."

Bruce continued to ignore him. He reached out, tickling the nape of Bruce's neck.

"Awww, c'mon…_Bruce_…"

Bruce swatted his hand away roughly. Tony pouted and slung himself forward over Bruce's neck; Bruce shook him off. Tony nosed into Bruce's neck, kissing and lipping at his shoulder, pulling his unbuttoned dress shirt further open. Bruce stood suddenly, pausing to glare at Tony before shoving past him.

Tony followed him across the room, catching up with him and wrapping his arms around his waist. Bruce took a deep breath, clenching his fists to contain his rising ire as Tony burrowed into his back, planting soft kisses under his collar.

"Tony. Get off me."

Tony tightened his grip, mouthing at Bruce's collarbone. "Mmm. Come on, don't be mad."

Bruce turned abruptly, breaking Tony's grip. "I _am_ mad, Tony," he snapped. He shot a worried glance over his shoulder to the bedroom door and lowered his voice. "I've had enough of your bullshit for one night, okay? Just…just don't."

Tony's upper lip twitched. He launched himself forward, twining his arms back around Bruce and nuzzling into his throat. Bruce growled in frustration as Tony dragged wet kisses along his neck up to the underside of his jaw.

"Tony—Tony, knock it off." Tony's hands drifted lower down Bruce's back, ghosting gently over the curve of his ass. "Tony, I mean it, I'm not in the mood."

Tony ignored him, pressing up against his body and trying (and mostly failing) to roll his hips seductively. "Aww, come on, just a lil' bit?" His groping hand found its way around Bruce's side to his groin; he planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on Bruce's tight-lipped frown. Bruce shoved him roughly away.

"That's _enough_, Tony!"

The flushed inventor swayed unsteadily, glaring indignantly. "What'd I do?"

"You know _exactly_ what you did. I have a hard time believing you had the gall to come up here at all. I'm not going to have you pawing at me like a cat in heat, trying to pretend like nothing's happened. I'm not putting up with it. You messed up. You messed up bad. You know exactly what you did and you know exactly why it was wrong, and you know why I'm angry, and you also know that there is absolutely nothing that you can do, here and now, to fix it. Which means you're not here to fix it."

Bruce held Tony off with an outstretched hand. "If you wanted to fix this, you'd have gone off to sleep in one of the guest rooms, and in the morning you'd be here—hangover be damned—with roses, on bended knee, begging Steve to forgive you for the terrible, _cruel_ way you treated him tonight. But instead you're here now. You're here because you're selfish. You've fucked up, _badly_, but you want to pretend like everything's fine, so you come up here, playing cute and cuddly and coming on to me. And it's not okay, Tony. _We're_ not okay."

Tony took a step backwards, moisture beading in his eyes as remorse washed over his face. His mouth opened and closed silently. Bruce set his jaw, meeting Tony's eyes squarely, refusing to let himself regret taking the hard line.

After a long silence he spoke again, his voice firm yet soft, his tone almost conciliatory. "Go away, Tony. We love you, we'll always love you, but you've crossed a line and we need some space right now. If _you_ love _us_, you'll respect that. Now, I'm tired, and I'm going to bed. If you've heard a single word I said, you won't be here when I come out tomorrow morning."

He turned and walked into the bedroom without looking back. After a few minutes, Tony turned and headed for the hall. He lost his balance as he reached the door, falling to his knees as a wave of nausea swept over him. He retched, vomiting into the nearest bin, shuddering spasms wracking his body as he emptied his stomach.

After the convulsions stopped, he struggled to his feet, wiping his mouth carelessly on his sleeve as he headed blindly out of the room, out into the hallway, heading out as far away as he could get from where his lovers slept.

...

A/N: I can't physics. My understanding of advanced quantum physics is about on par with Steve's. Please, do not judge me for making up a long string of sciencey-sounding words. Hope you all enjoyed this! I tried to make it as stand-alone as possible, but if you're curious as to what happens next, the story picks up with Jury's Out Chapter 10.


End file.
